Not Outta The Woods Yet
by RavingBabbit
Summary: Jacob Black fled Forks to piece together his broken heart, and he makes a pit stop in Lima just in time to break his heart all over again.  Slash. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Not Outta The Woods Yet**

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><p>Kurt Hummel was in the middle of acquiring an addiction, to a very lovely fellow. It wasn't because the boy was handsome, toned, and groomed to perfection.<p>

Blaine Anderson had a habit of constantly reaching for Kurt that greatly embarrassed Kurt when they were out in public like at the Lima Bean, Kirkland's, and The Gap (although Blaine had to be in disguise for that rendezvous, which the both of them agreed on for the sake of form-fitting knits).

Now, Kurt tentatively looped his arm through Blaine's, keeping the weight light and his hold breakable in case the other boy didn't want to be touched. Though Blaine had appeared confident and untouched by their loss at Regionals, Kurt would not forget.

Blaine flexed his arm and shrugged which placed his gloved hand over Kurt's. Kurt shivered, and he averted his goofy smile from that knowing twinkle shining out of Blaine's gaze.

It was the chill, damn it.

He stated as much, and Blaine pulled him closer.

No one was around, or rather, no one was around who would object to him kissing Blaine's cheek. It was a date night and late enough that the shop lights winked out one by one and the older couples who aggressively ignored the two boyfriends retired to their homes. Kids their age didn't give a flip.

Feeling emboldened in the romantic lighting and the dark of the night, Kurt leaned in for a peck and got a surprise when Blaine steered them into a cozy little nook that removed them from the winds.

Kurt was pressed into a glazed door which boasted a CLOSED sign, and then he had his breath stolen away in a series of light, sweet, and chilled little kisses.

Though he was taller, Kurt was often surprised by how much strength Blaine had. Karofsky would have been surprised for far less sexy reasons had Santana backed down that night at McKinley's failed charity concert.

"My God, Kurt, what the hell did I do to get you?" And Blaine was always so intensely grateful. Perhaps that was why Kurt felt safe around him all the time.

"This," Kurt smirked, rubbing his flushed cheek into Blaine's cold neck. "Keep doing this, and I might keep you forever."

"I wish," Blaine said wistfully and his smile, gleaming perfectly in their cozy shadow, seemed far too sad for the mood.

"What are you thinking right now?" Kurt asked. He let up on the plan of seduction he had going, sensing that Blaine was going to say something about his past. Kurt accepted Blaine, without question, but sometimes, sometimes, he felt like he was in over his head, when Blaine lapsed into his sadness, and Kurt tried to comfort him without knowing the exact cause.

He looked perfect and scared and Kurt really did want to keep him forever.

"Would you ever, I mean, you don't have to, but would you like to meet my… father?"

There were layers of reverence and fear and hope in that question that triggered alarm bells in Kurt's head. He himself had been afraid for Burt, about Burt's heart, of Burt's disappointment... but he'd never been afraid of his dad, not once, not even when Kurt did stupid things like Rachel Berry house parties.

"I'd love to," Kurt said, perhaps more fiercely than the question called for. Maybe Kurt was being paranoid.

"I love _you_," Blaine said, and it felt like he was letting out all that sadness, and Kurt did that, not some dude at The Gap.

Jere-meh-don't-care-bout-his-name had admitted to a couple cups of coffee with Blaine, but Kurt wasn't fooled, not after weeks of tongue and hands in exciting new places and he could tell that Blaine was always holding back.

Like, right now, actually. Perhaps it should have worried Kurt how quickly Blaine bounced back from his melancholy when Kurt was loving him. It really should.

Blaine moaned his name a couple times, and Kurt let his head and his eyes roll back in pleasure momentarily before the shots rang through the bitter air.

He was pretty sure that this was the closest he'd get to a heart attack; the source of the banging noise were a pair of rednecks in a truck that seriously needed to be in a landfill somewhere, never mind a muffler replacement. With all the junk piled up in the bed of the trunk, it really looked like they'd parked their trunk under a land fill.

The things they yelled at Kurt and Blaine were trashy enough.

"How stereotypical can you get?" Kurt muttered as Blaine pressed him protectively into the door, turning the glare of his eyes down the road distastefully.

"C'mon, let me take you home," Blaine said, reluctantly.

Kurt seethed with hatred. He had expected at least one more hour with Blaine, and maybe he'd fibbed about tonight's Warbler outing. He hadn't lied to Burt, technically, since Kurt and Blaine were Warblers and they were out.

They still held hands as Blaine walked Kurt to his car in a mostly empty plaza.

"Are you sure I can't drop you off?" Kurt asked anxiously. He thought of those loud drunks from earlier and fought back the images of Blaine hurt because of their intoxicated driving.

"I will always get home safely," Blaine said with such conviction. He kissed Kurt on the lips, firmly, and fixed the boy's scarf after he pulled away. "Text me or call me when you get home safe, okay?"

He didn't need to say why.

"Expect a text. The Hudson-Hummels have been on my case about using up all the family minutes," Kurt admitted, grinning.

"Really? We should get a couple's plan or something."

"But you're on Whore-izon," Kurt said, wrinkling his nose.

"I could change. I'd change for you," Blaine said, and he was so earnest about it and Kurt wanted to gush over how adorable it was, except that he himself knew how painful it was to be adorable when one was aiming for heartfelt and sincere.

"Aren't we a pair of star-crossed lovers?" Kurt chuckled.

"Good night," Kurt crooned, before putting in his key.

Blaine simply smiled in his mysterious way, and Kurt grudgingly steered his baby on to the road. Usually playing cute worked.

He was maybe five minutes away from the train tracks that marked Lima's city limits when he remembered that Blaine had a test first thing tomorrow morning. Knowing that Blaine would stay up until he got that text, Kurt fiddled with his phone to key in "I'm home, baby. Less-than-3."

Normally, Kurt was extremely conscientious of his driving and his texting as Burt had made him work on cars that were supposedly a result of cell phones. However, there was literally nothing around, and he'd been on cruise control for twenty minutes.

Kurt squinted and thought he saw something in the distance. Because his night vision wasn't spectacular, he put on the high beams.

"No fucking way," he said when he saw a familiar looking truck piled high with trash. Their hood was up and a plastic bag tied to a bent antennae billowed and puffed as it caught the light.

He should just drive on by, and no one would be the wiser. No one would accuse him of being a bad person for refusing to help strange and ugly men who were likely discriminated against him for his sexuality. While he did have his tool box in the trunk of his Navigator, he didn't have to poke around their engine in his date clothes.

Except that it was late at night, and he'd occasionally notice headlines about hikers being picked off by hypothermia even in the summer. The least he could do is stop and offer to let them use his phone.

All the doors would stay locked though.

He rolled down the passenger's window barely an inch down. "Do you need help?"

"Thank you, ma'am, we'd be much obliged," the man said politely as he stepped up cautiously to Kurt's car. His grateful expression froze, and Kurt coughed discreetly.

"I doubt there are any towing services still open. Do you have a phone? To call…" Animal control. "… a friend?"

"What the hell you doing, lunk head? Take the phone and call that brother of yours," the man's companion called out from behind him. He was clearly the thinker. As he walked up to shake his friend, Kurt could see his face more clearly. Whoa. He was also the looker.

The one dubbed "lunk head" snatched the phone out of Kurt's hand. Kurt reminded himself that he was doing a good deed by letting lunk head put his dirty fingers all over the touch screen. He would have to drench his iPhone in Germ-X before the night was over.

"You gotta scuse my friend. Sober or not, he ain't got no manners; spirits make him meaner than mean." The looker shook his head. "He got no sense, no sirree."

Kurt decided to keep his mouth shut and nod along. He remembered two sets of voices lobbing the "f" bomb at him and Blaine earlier. He should have called the police and reported the stranded men. In theory, he'd be moseying on home except that they had his phone.

Lunkhead cursed and yelled things into Kurt's phone, presumably at that brother of his. Unfortunately, he was standing over the engine yelling things, and then he went ballistic, flailing his arms and kicking the engine.

"That misrubble son of a gun," the looker muttered. "You got old scratch in you or what? What are ya doing?" His head moved from his friend to the engine, and then to Kurt, back to the engine, and then Kurt.

The phone was nowhere in sight.

It was Kurt's turn to get angry, only he was quieter about it. He put the key in his pocket, with his finger on the alarm button, as he slid out the safety of his car. The pair watched him dumbly as he stomped to his trunk and pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight and his toolbox.

"The least you can do is hold this and point it here," Kurt said evenly, his thumb jerking into the scummy, rusted mess. He held out the flashlight, and the better-looking one took it.

"As for you, where did you drop it?" Kurt asked, not able to resist putting a snap in his tone towards the dumber and uglier one.

The two men exchanged looks.

"He talk like a lady," the better-looking one said.

"Don't he?" the uglier one agreed.

At Kurt's impatient glare, the uglier one dutifully pointed at a thin space in the back. Luckily, Kurt's height worked to his advantage. He could bend down comfortably and get a clear look.

"I don't see anything," Kurt protested, as he gestured for the flashlight to move closer.

* * *

><p>Everything was pain.<p>

He had broken from the pack to survive. That was all he was doing, surviving, all this time.

He forgot the song of the pack moons ago.

The cold earth pounded in his head, his heart, his paws, and the wolf kept going anyway. He was alone. He was hungry. He needed to stop.

As long as he never had to go back. He did not remember why. If going forward was pain, looking back might kill him.

The scent of an enemy nearby halted him. His snout curled over his fangs in disgust, and his tongue lolled out with the memory of sweet blood.

The cuts on his back were marks from hard lessons, about crouching silently into the attack. His fur was dark. The night was dark. Dark was good.

The danger, the abomination could never hide itself from the wolf. The wolf recalled miles of white skin cracking between his jaws, and his mouth watered.

He snorted, and cringed at the blood coating the air. This was not the blood he craved. This was not the blood of the enemy.

His battle lust ebbed away, and he whined as the fatigue caught him. Then he growled in case the little creatures heard his moment of weakness. He nosed the stones on the ground and breathed in harder.

The scent would take him out into the open. It was strong enough to knock the sorrows from his body. He sniffed once more and suddenly bounded down the scent trail.

It was difficult to follow the salty metal flavor of blood with all the metal around him. Usually, he never strayed into man's lot. However, the blood called to him. It was alive, and he remembered the baying of his brothers with sudden clarity as he answered the call.

Train tracks. He had memories of them, running along them when the rivers thinned. The train tracks ran the way blood flowed.

He followed them to a body. It stank very badly, but he couldn't run away from this.

The wolf's fine hunting vision could pick out many bumps and colors that he vaguely knew shouldn't have been there. He went up to the thing and licked it. His tongue came away a brilliant red.

The human opened one blue eye and wheezed painfully.

The wolf recognized the gaping mouth as a scream; his prey had looked the same way as he taken them into his jaw and chewed at their lungs and stopped their heart.

Pink foam trailed down the human's pale neck. It didn't have long.

Humans were frail like that. Past the song of the pack cluttering his mind, he knew that. He understood that weakness intimately.

When that blue eye faded and closed, Jacob Black regained himself. The knowledge had him keeling, and the fur melted away and the paws curled into fingers as he bent over the white boy bleeding all over the tracks.

"White boy, hey, white boy stay with me!" Jacob croaked. He looked over the white boy critically and finally noticed the ropes tying him down to the rungs.

Asking himself what kind of fucking monster would do this to a kid, Jacob gnawed at the braided loops and gingerly cradled the broken little body in his arms. Unconscious, the poor little guy shivered helplessly and moaned in pain, in protest of Jacob's fever hot skin.

If it were anyone else, this skinny little white kid would be a goner. However, this was Jacob Black, descendent of the great Ephraim Black and son of Billy Black.

He practically flew as he kept his nose in the air to guide him to the nearest hospital. All he needed to do what locate the stench of death and despair. Jacob listened hard for the wail of ambulances, but remembered that in small enough towns, they could be idle for hours.

He stopped on someone's rooftop when he realized that his pants were still tied to his ankle. Face hot, Jacob reluctantly put down the white boy.

He knew from the time Bella lost herself in the woods that the authorities would have a lot of questions, and that under Chief Swan's gratitude, Sam and the pack had been spared the prying questions of why they were half-naked in the cold woods, how they had found Bella so quickly, and without the aid of flash lights and walkie-talkies.

It was cowardly to finally put the white boy in the back of an ambulance. He hadn't had much time, no way of knowing how soon the medics would return to their truck from the hospital.

Jacob ripped the locked doors open, and with that same strength, made sure the boy did not take any more jolts.

He took one last deep sniff of the boy. He was going to live, and he'd be miserable for months, but he'd live. There was also something else that was on the boy, but not really part of him. A faint, but sweet fragrance.

"Leeches!" Jacob hissed. His head turned suddenly as he sensed humans approaching.

"I swear I'll find the monster who did this to you," Jacob vowed. He leaped on to the ambulance to the ledge hanging over the hospital's quiet front entrance.

"Don't take it to heart, rookie. Sheila's a major bitch to everyone. She'll tear your balls off soons as she—holy shit." The medics found their surprise of the night.

The older one instantly began to resuscitate the white boy, as the younger one did as he was told and radioed dispatch for the police.

The news would be all over Lima before the morning traffic report.

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><p>AN: I'm officially lower than slime. Twilight x Glee, you guys! I don't own anything; thank god for anonymity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Not Outta the Woods Yet**

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><p>He didn't know when he woke up; he'd simply tired of the bad dreams, the agony emanating from his chest, and the foggy haze that disoriented him. He had no idea where he was, or why every nerve ending in his body felt like live wires.<p>

"White boy, hey, white boy! Stay with me!" Those frantic, caring words kept playing in his mind. He didn't know who it was, or why they needed him to stay.

He just knew it was very, very hard to push through all that until he was Kurt Hummel again.

His mouth tasted vile and dry and his eyes were gummy and he didn't want to think about the shapeless mass of hair plastered to his forehead. He focused instead on the fact that he was in the hospital, and that if he didn't hate them before, he really fucking hated them now.

He took a deep breath to call for a nurse, but that was a painful decision. He felt like he was immersed in an ocean of pain, especially when he breathed in, like he was being punished for wanting to live.

With the exception of his mother's funeral, Kurt had not been this weak in his life ever, and it stood to reason that he had no idea how to ask for help. Fortunately, he wasn't alone for long.

His neck was too stiff to see who it was, but someone gasped outside his door and from the pattering of sneakers, it sounded like they were running. Within several minutes, his Dad was by his side. Burt looked like an old man. Carole was behind him and she huffed and puffed and looked to be having as much trouble breathing as Kurt felt.

"Oh, poor baby, you must be in so much pain. I'll get the nurse." Carole patted the hand that wasn't in Burt's, and bustled out of the room to give them privacy. At her words, Kurt realized that his face was swollen, and wet.

"Figures you'd come back while I was taking a leak," Burt said, smiling humorlessly.

They might've reaffirmed how much they loved each other and maybe Burt smoothed back Kurt's hair and Kurt might have ruined the moment by making sure his dad didn't forget to wash his hands. However else they spent their time together, they definitely didn't cry.

The rest of his hospitalization was a blur of sleep, drugs, white coats, and gelatin. Kurt was certain that he wouldn't eat another bite of Jello once he got out of the hospital, not even to take Jello shots.

He was grateful to Santana for sneaking in his girlfriends; that girl worked her candy striper uniform like a charm on the security guards. Mercedes and Quinn cried on him, but they had left him with a grab-bag of travel sized toiletries. Tina and Brittany stopped by and showed him a series of confused dance choreography that hopefully were for his amusement and not Nationals. Tina helpfully left him with tidy copies of her class notes, and more helpfully, a separate pile of graded homework for him to use as "guidance."

However, the person he wanted to see most did not make his appearance. At first, Kurt had been relieved, since he couldn't work the natural beauty angle without an unnatural coating of cover-up. Rachel changed the subject and Finn played dumb when Kurt asked them if Blaine called or texted. Finally, he shoved away his pride and begged Santana to let him use her phone to Facebook stalk his boyfriend when calling Blaine's number just to hear the customized message on his voicemail got way too pathetic..

He felt better when the status on Blaine's page had not been updated in two days, and then he worried that something had happened, especially when he was spammed with tweets from the Warblers, particularly from Wes. They either asked about him or asked him if he'd heard from Blaine.

Kurt considered his priorities in life: Did he want to be a good boyfriend or a good patient?

He had no idea that walking sucked this hard after one night in a coma and three days in a hospital bed eating hospital jello. He was pretty sure that he had a case of jelly legs, but he would do this. This was nothing compared to a Sue Sylvester cardio burn, although he'd rather be wearing his Cheerios uniform than the sweat pants.

Touch wall. Inhale. Three small steps. Exhale. Look over shoulder. Be pretty. Repeat until elevator.

"Do you need help?" Kurt heard. Before he refused, a large brown hand extended itself into his field of vision, which was admittedly limited to a blurry-looking floor.

He didn't realize that balance was a lost cause until that hand caught his wrist. Kurt wheezed and his arm cradled his throbbing torso.

"This isn't," Kurt panted. "not necessary."

The person snorted. "Really? You were going to crawl? Do you know what goes on these floors, kid?"

The images turned his face an Elphaba green. "Ew, ew, I'm grossed out at every single step. And it's all your fault."

"You're not gonna remember any of it," the person assured him. "Your head is crazy fuzzy with drugs, like a drunk pup."

Kurt scowled irritably at the comparison, and his glare slackened when he got his first real look at who had thwarted his ambitions of escape.

That height. That profile. Kurt was momentarily jerked to the first time Finn Hudson had talked to him and held his jacket for him. This person looked nothing like Finn, but they both carried themselves in a way that set them apart. This man navigated them through a narrow stretch congested with nurses and orderlies, and with an easy grace.

"Any bad ideas you got going on in that noggin, you should forget them, too."

"How did you know this was my room?" Kurt asked suspiciously. He eyed the man's outfit and decided that if this man and Finn had anything in common, it was that their wardrobe needed to be destroyed.

The oversize Hawaiian print shirt. The baggy cargo pants. Dear Gaga, was he wearing yellow Crocs? What was this man's excuse?

Kurt, at least, had been on the brink of freezing to death with a concussion and busted ribs. His dad hadn't said a damn word about the knee-length knitted sweater that helped him through the sudden chills.

"Oh my God, my baby," Kurt blurted, and his knees gave out.

"What?" the man asked, perplexed. He nudged Kurt to the bed and stepped back to witness the meltdown.

"My car. I never asked about my car. The cretins who put me in this hospital must have kidnapped my baby. Oh God. Oh my God. My precious baby. I bet they're feeding her regular instead of premium, those sadistic jerks."

"Calm down, kid. If it's a really nice model, the cops will have no problem pulling it over. Just to look at it. What is she?"

"Navigator 5.4 L V8."

There was a respectful moment of silence.

"You have lost more than everything I've ever had," the man said. "I'm awful sorry…?"

Kurt supplied his name morosely.

"I'm awful sorry, Kurt," the man repeated easily. "My name's Jacob."

Jacob tilted his head. "I'm right down the hall if you're looking to fall on your face. Just holler… are you going to eat that jello?"

Definitely a Finn type, of a shaggier variety. Kurt pushed the tray in Jacob's direction. Somehow, Jacob interpreted this as an invitation to make himself at home.

"What's your hurry to get outta here, anyway?"

From years of successfully establishing emotional distance between himself and his peers, Kurt opted for honesty. People usually left when they got to know him.

"My boyfriend. He hasn't called me or messaged me and I'm worried that something terrible happened with his family or worse and that's why he hasn't come to see me." Kurt reached for a heavily earmarked magazine and thumbed the pages with studied indifference. All he needed was the mixed drink with the little umbrella.

"Maybe he doesn't love you," Jacob said thoughtfully, after a beat.

Kurt paled and the magazine slid into his lap. "I don't believe that for a second. What is your damage? You don't go around talking like that, do you?"

"I don't talk to people period," Jacob answered.

"Shame," Kurt remarked flippantly. "You could use the practice, preferably with other people."

Jacob slurped up the last of the jello and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and the uncivilized motion gave Kurt one more reason to hate this man.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, and I don't care what your reasons are, but you have no right to talk to anyone about love. You have no right to make judgments about people you don't know or situations you don't understand. Especially about the boy I love. For your information, we both went through hell, and the only reason we made it out is because we had each other to hold on to. No one can touch us, or what we have. So screw you, and get out of my room. Before I cut you."

He felt like he was swelling with all the love that he felt for Blaine. It didn't matter that they hadn't touched or spoken this long. It sounded stupid, but Kurt felt real close to his boyfriend in that moment.

He hadn't done a speech in a while, and though it made his own ribs stab him with each word, it would have killed him if he hadn't said any of it. Well, it would have killed him if this Jacob character didn't. The sinews of the man's heavily muscled arms bulged and a tic pulsed in his neck as he stared at Kurt with fury. The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck raised, and he had the very scary thought that if he so much as moved a finger (particularly the one closest to the nurse call button), the man would go berserk. He'd seen that deadly anger in Finn, too.

The moment passed, and an eerie calm settled over Jacob. His eyes resumed their bland shade. "Huh, you're a funny kid."

He exited the room with the empty jello packet, leaving Kurt with a nasty migraine once the tension left his body.

* * *

><p>He hunted by day and guarded by night.<p>

His first priority was clothing; he helped himself to garbage bags dumped by Goodwill and Salvation Army, taking the worst of the lot to ease the guilt. He had resigned himself to going barefoot until he fished out a pair of yellow crocs.

The months of aimless travel had stripped away his weakness, and sharpened his instincts. He no longer required three square meals, having to live on a diet of things he caught in his teeth. However, hospitals did have vending machines, and when he couldn't stand it, he scrounged up change for root beer.

While he got odd looks, Jacob patrolled the entrances of the hospital, as well as concentrating his efforts on the floor that housed a certain patient.

As far as Jacob could tell, Kurt Hummel led a charmed life.

Even without Jacob, the white boy was never alone. He had two equally loving parents and a brother. Most families during tragedies, Jacob noticed, allowed for the mother to grieve openly and touch openly. The fathers kept their emotions and their fists to themselves. Not so with white boy. Mr. Hummel and the son that wasn't hospitalized hugged and talked about how afraid they were about Kurt. When one broke down, the other brought him back.

He'd almost called his own father or his sisters from a payphone, and had to grab three root beers to contain that impulse.

Instead, he found out their names were Burt and Finn. The mother was Carole, and she was as tender and attentive as any wife and mother. They took shifts, probably to make sure Kurt didn't wake up alone. When all three were together in a pack, Jacob regretted not taking Kurt to the ER directly. Maybe he would have been able to sit with them and bask in their unity, as though he was one of their own.

When Kurt actually woke up, the hospital might as well have installed a revolving door to his room. The kid had a ton of friends who brought cards and gifts and gossip, at all hours, regulations be damned. He was friends with half the football team and girls so smokin' hot that they had to be cheerleaders.

It hurt to think of her, but Bella had described the jocks and popular girls at her school with contempt and dislike in her tone. Movies and TV shows taught Jacob, who attended a very, very small school on the reservation, that jocks and popular girls were self-serving backstabbers who slept with each other.

He didn't know what to think when at least a dozen of them crammed themselves into Kurt's room and sang to him.

Even the sarcastic Latino chick with the huge boobs had sang her heart out to see Kurt smile.

They sounded fantastic together.

There was no chance in hell that Quil or Embry or Seth or _Leah_ would put themselves out there like that for Jacob. He trusted them in battle, but all of them would have laughed in his face for thinking of it. Still, he did miss their presence. He missed his village, the reassurance of his community. He missed driving.

If Kurt had a girlfriend who was in love with him, too, Jacob might have snapped.

Jacob focused on his duty, because it was easier. He did not allow himself to get near Kurt, except to mark the boy's room as his territory to warn off predators at night. He never stayed in the room for more than a few seconds, never let himself wonder what made this boy worthy of all the love and friendship he had. A few cursory sniffs, to tag the vampire stench of course, revealed nothing except that the boy smelled weird from the blood transfusions.

The only emotion he did allow himself was outrage that the vampire caused that many people to grieve over their loved one. It was a mercy that Kurt did not appear to remember the attack, possibly as a result of his head wounds.

With the number of runs he'd made through Lima, to track the leech that attacked Kurt, Jacob was starting to think of Lima as his. While he never found his prey, there were one or two intruders he picked off without any problems. The fires he lit to burn their remains almost warmed him.

Then he'd go back to the hospital and catch a glimpse of the Asian girl and the blonde girl dancing like they belonged in a music video. They were both cuties, but the one he liked was the petite one with the long brown hair and the full lips, for reasons he didn't want to think about.

After a few days, Jacob had to admit to himself that he was getting attached. There was no real reason to hang around when it was clear that Kurt was not in any clear danger. The vampire had played with its toy, and it had moved on.

He would have left town, too, if it didn't turn out that Kurt needed to be protected after all, from himself.

Jacob discovered Kurt making a painful bid for freedom. The white boy was going to hit the floor if no one helped him.

With the image of that broken body firmly etched in his mind, Jacob reached out to him.

What kind of oblivious idiot tried to walk this soon after a broken rib punctured a lung? He could only think of one person more stupid and dangerous to themselves than Kurt Hummel, and it was pissing him off.

Because he still loved her. Because he still didn't want her to die. Because she'd rather die than live with him.

Because someone was in love with Kurt Hummel, on top of the perfect family and a large circle of close friends.

Jacob snapped. Somehow, finding out that Kurt was gay made him angrier. It should have relieved him that the kid had such a huge flaw.

In a community where their numbers were low from the misdeeds of the white man, homosexuality was taboo. Every generation needed to produce more little warriors as a means of preserving his people and their ways. Too many bloodlines had thinned and families died out for want of children.

However, liking men did not stop Kurt from knowing love. Liking men would not shame his family or cause them to be ashamed of him. Being a fag did not stop Kurt from finding love. Love that was strong enough that Kurt tried to break out of a hospital to get to his lover.

Liking men had not stopped a little white boy, and loving a girl had destroyed Jacob Black.

"Maybe he doesn't love you," Jacob said through the rage. It was taking him everything he had not to phase into a wolf.

She certainly hadn't loved him, no matter what she said. Really, he was trying to spare Kurt the heartbreak.

Kurt didn't appear to appreciate his efforts, going so far as to threaten physical harm to the wolf.

Jacob went from Kurt's hospital room to outside the hospital in the direction of the train tracks. He ran up and down those tracks until the moon faded under the sun. It was the first time he'd slept in days, with the image of Kurt's stricken face in his dreams.

* * *

><p>AN: I challenge you guys to think of something more gay than a Twilight x glee crossover. I don't own anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Not Outta the Woods Yet**

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><p>"Alright, sonny boy. How's about we have that little chit chat?"<p>

Kurt nodded stoically, though his knuckles whitened with how harshly the bed sheet twisted in his hands. To his dismay, singing and laughing hurt him terribly but he had strength enough for this interview. The social worker had been a kindly old man who delayed Kurt's appointment with the detective, but he couldn't change the extent of Kurt's injuries and the seemingly nonexistent date in which Kurt could go home.

The investigator, Kathy Winters, was a middle-aged lady with frizzy, ashen hair that must have been blond somewhere between the excessive smoking and caffeine. Kurt couldn't smell the pervasive disinfectants when Winters pulled up a wheeled stool.

"I don't remember much," Kurt admitted. "I drove home after a night out with a friend, in my Navigator. It's a 2009 model." Kurt suddenly slumped into pillow, but Winters did not stop taking notes as she prodded, "What's up, son? What are you thinking? A flashback of the trauma?"

"Not really," Kurt stated bitterly. "I recently attended a great but expensive private school out in Westerville. Dalton Academy, I'm sure you've heard of it. Cost a lot. I uninstalled the vehicle tracking feature on the Navigator to cut some expenses."

Winters's cracked lips thinned, and it brought unflattering attention to the dry patch on her chin. "Well, nothing we can do about that." Her pen jabbed her little notepad with surprising determination. "What else you got for me?"

"I saw a flash of white, and I stopped the car. I must have gotten out." As he pondered, Kurt stroked the back of his head where tenderness and swelling had given him headaches. "I remember looking at my engine, but that doesn't feel right to me."

The detective's scrawling finally stopped. "You weren't having any car trouble."

"No. I took care of my baby. You'd have never known she didn't roll off the dealership a year ago."

Winters flicked briefly to a different page in her notepad. "Your dad owns Hummel Lube and Tires."

"Yes. He had me working there for tune-ups, inspections, and so on. Even if I didn't know my way around the hood, I would still say that the engine I looked at couldn't have been my baby's. There were too many patch-ups and a leak I would not have driven on, especially not halfway to Westerville."

"What were you doing at Westerville?"

"I was out with a friend. We had dinner and wandered around the outlet," Kurt said. "I remember saying goodnight and, uh, don't tell my dad but I texted on the road."

"Dalton Academy is a boys' school."

"That's not a question," Kurt pointed out. "You're correct, though."

"You were on a date," Winters said, but she was already writing.

"Yes, we were," Kurt said, a little haughtily.

Winters didn't blink. "I spoke with the medics who brought you in. They stated that they found you bleeding all over the stretcher with the doors busted. Took them a whiles to recover their truck from the repairs to the damage. Can you tell me anything about the people who brought you in?"

"If I could, I would have already," Kurt stated flatly. "I only remember being outside and it was dark enough that I could see the stars. I remember dying."

That sounded less melodramatic in his head, but it was true.

"I didn't get an out-of-body experience. My life didn't flash before my eyes. I was cold and alone, Detective Winters. I always imagined myself going out in a blaze of glory after a string of awards tied neatly to my name."

"We all got dreams, sonny boy. We'll all go. For now, let's focus on reality," Winters said, grimacing thinly. "What else were you feeling?"

Kurt wasn't about to tell her that he saw a bear after noting the indulgent smirk on her face.

"I didn't feel anything. Nothing. I woke up with my arm in a blood pressure cuff that was hurting me. I had to wait a long time for the social worker to get in touch with the police to give the bad news to my dad and to Carole. I remembered thinking that if dad had another heart attack, at least he'd be at the right place. They got there, and I was drugged up to my eyeballs through whatever they did to fix me. And here I am, now. No car. No wallet. No phone."

"You're lucky to be alive," Winters commented. "If your wallet wasn't on you, how did your guardians get called that quickly?"

"Dad," Kurt said, smiling genuinely.

Winters was momentarily struck by his prettiness.

"I wasn't home by 22:30," Kurt said. "My phone probably has a million voice mails from everyone. Dad and Carole got on Finn's case. Finn's my stepbrother. He called everyone who might have had Blaine's number since I wasn't picking up."

"Blaine was your date."

Kurt nodded, and Winters immediately picked up his crestfallen expression and his willingness to keep talking.

"They gave me another half-hour to get my butt home. Technically, Dad gave me ten minutes and then after the twenty minute drive to the station, he went in and reported me as missing."

Pain crossed his face, but he laughed a little anyway. "Good thing I had an excuse."

Kurt was hoping that they would stop there. He was thirsty and the slow burn in his chest had intensified.

"Let's go back to when you were outside. This was after you sustained your injuries. Bruises and lacerations all over your body, namely on your chest and your back. You suffered heavy blood loss. Signs of blunt force trauma to the back of your head which explains your selective memory of the assault."

"You refused an examination of the genitourinary area."

Kurt flushed to his toes. "It wasn't necessary. I didn't. I wasn't raped, okay? I'd know it even if the doctors needed to lobotomize me. It's pretty obvious that I was carjacked and had my _money_ stolen."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Kurt," Winters said, still not done writing. "I can see that I will get no further details from you unless your memory returns in full force."

"Then we're done," Kurt said, clutching his sides in relief, under the blanket.

"Well, no," Winters said. "I understand you want the matter closed as soon as possible, but that won't catch your attackers. I want to find the people who did this to you and bring them to justice. I cannot stress how important you are."

Kurt was slightly taken aback at the unexpected intensity in her tone.

"That being said, I would like Blaine to call me to make a statement about his end of the night since he was the last known person to see you."

"He hasn't done anything," Kurt said. "You make him sound like a suspect."

"That's because he is," Winters said slowly, the only touch of pity or mercy in her straightforward manner. "My attempts to contact him through his school have been wasted. Blaine hasn't been in school since your hospitalization. Has he contacted you?"

"He hasn't but," Kurt was interrupted.

"He's hiding something. It's a pretty big coincidence if you're looking at it from where I am," Winters said. "Unless the people who got you to the hospital come forward, I may have to issue a subpoena for Blaine Warbler."

There was a knock from the other side of the closed door before Kurt could point out how difficult it would be to get someone when you fudged their last name.

"I'll get it," Winters said. She raised one gritty brow.

"You the boyfriend?" Kurt heard her say, and he nearly rolled off the bed in shock.

* * *

><p>A woman answered Kurt's door, and she wasn't Carole, a nurse, or any of Kurt's hot friends.<p>

Jacob blanched when she looked him up and down and her lips pinched tightly together in obvious disapproval. She shut the door behind her and planted her feet.

"Um, no. I'm Jacob," he answered. It was obvious to him that he could've picked a better time to apologize to Kurt and explain a few things.

"I'm Detective Kathy Winters," the woman said, offering a bony hand to Jacob, who eyed it the way a wolf would a steel trap. He was surprised that he had all his fingers when she let go.

"What's your relation to Kurt?" Detective Winters inquired. "You're not in high school, are you? Grown man like you?"

Jacob hadn't felt like a sixteen year old in a long time. "No, I'm not. I wanted to talk to Kurt, in private."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Winters said, and Jacob didn't believe for a minute that this woman was afraid of anything. He didn't smell fear or anxiety on her so much as anger. It radiated off her deceptively relaxed posture and her anger made him edgy.

"How old are you exactly? In your twenties? You're not a patient. You're not his boyfriend. What business do you have with a beat up little kid?"

These were exactly the sort of questions he'd wanted to avoid. Humans were always drawn to unnecessary risks. He had worked up the courage to come back to the hospital after Kurt had said things that triggered all of his nerves. He had also set aside his ego to see that he wanted Kurt to hear him out since he had done the same for the frail boy.

Jacob knew that he'd be in Pennsylvania in two days if he left now. He might not stop at the Atlantic Ocean.

There was only one way to Kurt, when it mattered, and he had to go through Detective Winters.

"I'm the one who brought Kurt to the hospital. He was really messed up," Jacob said.

"Kurt can confirm that?" Winters inquired. He didn't even see the note pad in her right hand.

"He doesn't know. I introduced myself, but I think he assumed I was a crazy," Jacob said, and Detective Winters took in his unusual outfit for the fall. She hadn't bothered taking her coat off and he was in a short sleeve.

"Where did you find him?"

"Train tracks. There's a part that touches on the borders of the woods," Jacob said.

"When did you find him?"

"I don't know. Wasn't exactly thinking of the exact time since I wanted to get him to the hospital." Jacob rubbed at his neck, thinking about how fair it was that he was getting the third degree for someone else's crime.

"Why didn't you call 911 and leave it? I imagine there was blood everywhere," Winters stated shrewdly.

"I wasn't in my right mind," Jacob said.

"Between the hours of 10:30 PM and 3:18 AM, the time indicated on Kurt Hummel's admission to the hospital, you were at a relatively isolated area of Lima and you were not in your right mind. What were you doing that places you at the scene? Hiking?"

"I wasn't on drugs or anything," Jacob said. "I was going to follow the tracks into the town, and then I was pretty much on top of him. Someone tied him down to the rungs. He wasn't wearing a coat. I didn't see a car nearby."

"You drove him to the hospital?" Winters inquired shrewdly.

"I got him there, yeah," Jacob said, and if Winters caught the careful wording, she didn't show it.

"Please understand that I'm on your side," Winters stated dispassionately. "Is there a number that I can reach you? An address?"

"I'm sort of a drifter. I don't have any of those," Jacob said.

"How exactly do you get around?"

"Do you really need to know that for Kurt?" Jacob asked, stalling for time. To his relief, she relented.

"No. It's an extraneous detail," Winters admitted. "Would have simplified the paper work."

"You do have an e-mail address, at least?" Winters finally burst, and he could see her frustration and feel a measure of sympathy for the woman. She was doing her job.

"Yes." To Jacob's credit, he kept a straight face when she repeated his email address.

"S-P-E-E-D-R-A-C-E-R-R-R-6-9-X-X-X?" Winters maintained with no change in expression.

Jacob was so, so glad that distance affected the mental telepathy that connected him to his pack, especially Leah. She'd laugh herself sick.

"I will want a formal statement from you. Try to stick around Lima. Hell, I'll get a pal of mine to put you up for a couple days."

"That won't be needed," Jacob said, although he was tempted, if only to take a real shower instead of quick clean ups wherever he could snatch them.

"One last thing," Winters said, with her hand on the knob. "Your real name, if you would."

His gut warned him against lying to her. While he did not have a criminal record, a simple background check would lead her to La Push easily. "Jacob Black. I'd appreciate it if you would keep my family out of this, Detective."

"If you've done nothing wrong, I couldn't touch you Mr. Black. Thank you for coming forward. Allow me."

With that, Winters jerked the door open a crack and clearly stated," Turns out I don't need your boyfriend, sonny boy. The guy who saved your neck is here to see you."

She smirked at him and whistled as she turned on her heel and practically marched to a door that must have led to a stair well since a couple nurses were wheeling beds out of the elevator.

Jacob knocked though the door wasn't shut all the way. His focus had been thoroughly demolished, and that almost killed his resolve. He was no coward, though.

"Hey," he said, and he wasn't surprised at the distinct lack of gratitude on Kurt's face.

"You! You're the one who rescued me?" Kurt gaped.

"Not the knight in shining armor you pictured, right?" Jacob quipped, oddly put at ease by Kurt's disappointment. He had pegged Kurt as one of those Type A's who were never happy with anything, not unlike Sam Uley.

"Sorry, can't hear you over your hobo chic attire," Kurt apologized, but he muttered the last part that did not escape Jacob's sensitive hearing.

"Why are you here now exactly?" Kurt asked. "You saw me alive and breathing, and then you insulted me in the worst way. I don't want to forgive you, not for that."

"I get it," Jacob said, after he looked away from that defiant face. "I don't want your thanks or anything. Just, what you said earlier, shook me out of a funk. I didn't care that I was bitter, or I fooled myself into thinking it. But everything you said hurt. A lot. You schooled me, white boy."

"Oh my God. It really was you," Kurt said, and he was looking over Jacob's shoulder as though seeing something from the distance. His voice got small and he seemed to shrink into himself. "Tell me, when you found me, was there anything else around?"

Jacob's ears perked. "You mean, the thing that attacked you?"

"Maybe," Kurt answered, and he reeked of fear. "I never saw anything like it. I must have been going crazy. I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

Before Jacob could ask Kurt to describe the source of his fear, Kurt swallowed and changed the topic abruptly. "Is your name really Jacob? I'm not trying to offend you this time, but I keep thinking of this bottom feeder at my school. I don't want to call you Black because it could be construed as racist."

"You could call me Jake," the wolf blurted. He didn't know how to bring up the word "vampire" without freaking the kid out and at the same time, he was haunted by a selfless, reckless girl who had always thrilled him with his name on her full lips.

Then his brain caught up with him. "You were listening at the door."

Kurt's ears reddened. "I thought she was going to do something to Blaine."

"Your boyfriend."

"Yes," Kurt said, but it was without his usual pride or amazement that he loved someone. "Well, he's supposed to be. We're dating, anyways. What does it mean when someone doesn't come see you when you're in a stupid hospital and they know that the stupidest day of your life happened in a hospital?"

The tip of Kurt's nose was very red, which enhanced the strangely vivid color of his eyes, which were looking watery no matter how calm Kurt sounded when in his own roundabout way, he wanted to know why Blaine didn't love him.

Jake hated his superior wolf senses at times, but right now especially. He couldn't smell any tears off of Kurt, thankfully because white boy was holding it all in. But there was a quality to the air in Kurt's lonely little room that made his throat ache and he wanted to howl at things. He didn't expect this from a kid who had a lot of friends.

"I wouldn't know that," Jake admitted, and somehow that admission made him relax, helped him remember a little bit of his apology to Kurt. "There's a good chance that he's so into you that he can't see how deep his head is up his ass. You should eat more and get your strength up, cuz it'll wear at you. Waiting for them while they go in circles figuring it out."

Kurt carefully picked at a cuticle, and Jake's eyes were riveted on hospital windows that were drilled closed. The sun was already going down, but in its gentle light, they were seeing each other very differently.

"Helllooooooo," Carole chirped. She had a shopping bag in hand, and in short order had a warm meal set up for Kurt. "I know you don't like this much meat, sweetie, but the PA recommended a heavier serving or else your muscles—" She paused when she noticed Jake eyeing the food.

"Who's your friend?" she asked. Kurt almost groaned at how the yellow Crocs didn't even blip on her radar. He was going to have to work on that as soon as his chest wasn't taped up.

"Carole, that's Jake. Jake, meet Carole." Kurt paused, and decided that he'd like to see Carole's reaction after a boring day of daytime television. "Jake was the one who got me to the hospital."

She didn't disappoint, and pulled Jake into a tight, matronly squeeze. Kurt enjoyed how Jake's face, which looked like it was carved to be serious all the time, took on a bug-eyed sort of panic. She was hugging Jake as hard as she couldn't hug Kurt because of his chest injuries.

"My husband will be grateful to you. You can count on a lifetime of discount tune-ups," Carole commented when she let go. "Don't even think of refusing. We will take you to dinner, anywhere you'd like to go."

"I'm actually good, ma'am," Jake said. His mouth quirked oddly. "I'm used to eating out, on-the-go."

"That's perfect!" Carole insisted. "It's a lot cheaper to invite you to dinner at our house. I'm not the world's best cook, but I think a big guy like you wouldn't turn down home-cooking."

Jake realized that she was talking about her other son Finn.

"Say you'll let us repay you with dinner." Carole had her arm around Kurt's shoulder. They both smiled at him, although Kurt's wasn't nearly as nice as Mrs. Hummel's.

"Wait, Carole. You don't mean tonight," Kurt said incredulously. "You brought me dinner."

"The doctor wanted to keep you for another day to make sure you were healing without any infections. You'll be back home in time for lunch. Your dad will pick you up."

"Thank Gucci," Kurt said.

Jake had an image of Kurt dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes and flopping onto his pillow.

"Say you'll come to dinner," Carole insisted, with Kurt out of the way. "You don't have anywhere to be tomorrow evening, right? We usually eat at 7 PM. Do you need a ride?"

Jake could have lied his ass off, but he didn't. Later on, he would try to rationalize that Kurt's house might have clues related to his attack. Vampires were sneaky, so you never knew. The food was simply an awesome bonus.

* * *

><p>AN: OMG. Twilight x Muppets. Oh wait, you mean Labyrinth. I don't own Twilight x glee. I figured out why you guys like this: No Bella. She can stay in Forks and birth the anti-Christ.

Thank you for reading! I'll be going on vacation. I will try so hard not to forget NOTWY.


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